


Nights by the Campfire

by Tabbykat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Camp, Dubious Morality, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Moral Ambiguity, Morality, Puppy Love, blossoming love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-19 02:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15500292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabbykat/pseuds/Tabbykat
Summary: A series of one shots where Warden Lurianna and her companions talk life, love, politics, and everything in between.





	1. The Warden and The Assassin

**Author's Note:**

> I originally intended to write a scene for each companion, but column A got distracted by shiny things column B hit a bit of a block when it came to writing. I do intend to finish the series the next time I do a play through.  
> No scenes or dialogue from the game but events are heavily referenced.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran is curious about the Warden's latest choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zevran always seemed the most accepting of the Warden and their choices, I always thought if he ever chose to approach the Warden on anything they did it would be more out of curiosity than anything else...

“One, two, heave!” my voice echoed and bounced off the stone walls around us as Zevran and I braced ourselves and pushed the body off the railing of the stone bridge, sending it pin wheeling into the darkness below.

“Maker’s Breathe,” Zevran huffed as he wiped the sweat from his brow.  “And I thought they smelled bad when they were alive.”

I smirked at the assassin and turned to drag another Darkspawn corpse towards the edge of the bridge.

“Well you only have to deal with the stink once more Zevran.  This is the last one then we can get back to Alistair and Oghren.  Hopefully they’ll have everything set up by then.”

“Was it truly wise to leave those two alone together?” Zevran asked, bending over and picking up the feet of the Hurlock and helping me lift it onto the wide stone railing.  “I fear when we return we’ll find them both naked and singing dwarven tavern songs.”

I grunted noncommittally as I pushed against the lifeless flesh and with Zevran’s help sent it tumbling into the void to join its brethren far, far below.

“I think we could all use a bit of loosening up after being down here for who knows how long,” I replied with a sigh as I sat down heavily on the cold stone, my back resting against the railing.

We were miles underground, in tunnels called the Deep Roads that were mined ages ago by the dwarves.  Once a prosperous and bustling race, the Deep Roads acted as the main roads and connections to all corners of the dwarven kingdom.  But enemies lurked around every corner even this far away from the sun and centuries ago the kingdom collapsed, the cities and settlements abandoned, the Roads eventually crumbling away into ruins.  I only knew of one bastion of dwarven civilization left, an underground metropolis named Orzammar that served as the race’s capitol.  The dwarves lived closer to the surface than ever before, and now the only things that lived down here were the dead, the Darkspawn, and their fellow arachnid and deep stalker vermin.

I don’t think I would have ever come this far down the Roads if it wasn’t necessary.  But I needed the dwarves to honor their treaty with the Grey Wardens.  And the dwarves needed me to find one of their Paragons, a dwarf who made such a contribution towards dwarven society within their lifetime that they were venerated as if they were dead.  If that makes any sense.

The dwarven king had died, and the two strongest claimants to the throne were locked against each other: the king’s youngest son who was rumored to have sent his older brother to his death and poisoned his father, against his father’s oldest and most trusted friend and advisor who only fought for the throne because he claimed it was a deathbed request of the king, made when the two of them were alone.  Only the king or the ruling body of the assembly could decide to uphold or ignore the treaty their ancestors had sworn to so long ago.  A king would not be chosen unless I could prove myself to them and find a third party voice that everyone respected to choose a new king themselves.

That third party turned out to be a dwarven woman named Branka who had disappeared with her entire household –minus her husband– into the Deep Roads in search of a piece of their forgotten lore called the Anvil of the Void.  I was tasked to bring Branka back so she could choose the new king.  Branka’s husband, a dwarven drunkard rumored to be a warrior by the name of Oghren, asked to come along with me.  Despite everyone telling me it was a bad idea to have a drunkard watching my back, I accepted Oghren into my party.  Everyone deserves a chance to redeem themselves.  Well, most everyone.

For a long time the four of us traveled in the darkness, and we found Branka sacrificing her household to the Darkspawn, using them to create more of the creatures, and using the newly bred spawn as fodder to try and get past the traps that led to the Anvil of the Void.  I don’t know if it was the darkness that drove Branka to her madness, or if it was already there when she came to these depths, but there was no redemption for her.  Not after she had willingly allowed the females of the house to become Darkspawn brood mothers, ensuring an endless supply of Darkspawn to use, and allowed the males to be fed as sustenance to the spawn, old and new.

We found Branka and left her again, gaining access past the traps to the Anvil, where we met a golem named Caradin, not knowing at the time that Branka followed us.  Caradin was the creator of the Anvil of the Void, a tool used to create golems by taking a living soul and using the Anvil as a conduit to basically stuff it into a body of stone.  Golems were a large reason why the dwarven race thrived long ago, but once willing volunteers became scarce, the ancient kings raided their dungeons for new souls, and then just raided.  When Caradin protested, he was sacrificed on the Anvil, but retained enough of his willpower to take his creation and seal it away, waiting through the centuries for someone to come and destroy it.

Apparently the Maker thought it appropriate that that someone was me.  Caradin impressed upon me the need to destroy the Anvil, while Branka begged me to keep it, raving about how it was needed to restore the dwarves to their former glory.  I sided with Caradin and agreed to destroy the Anvil, provided he come back with me, or give me something to break the deadlock in Orzammar and chose a new king.  Caradin agreed in turn and made a crown for me to give to whoever I chose, saying he was too tired to care any longer about dwarven politics, throwing himself to his death in a river of lava after I destroyed not only the Anvil, but Branka as well.

Branka went truly mad when she learned I would destroy the Anvil and attacked us.  As much as I hated the task and feared that her husband would turn on me as well, I killed her.  Thankfully Oghren is more sensible than he lets on.  He knew as well as I did that there was no hope for Branka.  I can still see in his eyes that he’s hurt by her loss but it’s a hurt that comes with understanding and the pain will fade in time

That was a few days ago I think.  We were on the road back to Orzammar and were setting camp for a much needed rest.  Thankfully a group of Darkspawn had set up here on an old bridge so it was just a matter of clearing them out and we had a usable, defensible area to rest for a few hours.  Scrubbing my face with my hands, I tried to wipe away my weariness and not focus on how long it had been since I had last seen the sun.  Weeks?  Months?  Time passes differently in the darkness I found, and no matter how swiftly we cut through the pockets of life that wanted to destroy us, I feared that when we returned to the surface it would be too late.

“Ah, Lurianna my dear,” Zevran sighed as he sat down next to me.  “You are thinking of Caradin and Branka again are you not?”

I nodded.  “What gave me away?”

“Well it must be a matter of great importance and concern to carve such lines of worry upon the face of a beauty such as yourself,” he said with a smile.

“And the Blight isn’t a matter of great importance and concern?” I asked him archly.

“It is my dear, but the Blight is much like the clouds or that stone far above us,” he said as he gestured to the cavern ceiling.  “Always there, always present, but taken at face value and for granted until it starts to rain.  It is only on immediate matter that I see that look on your face, most recently before this Anvil business in the Circle tower with the mages.”

“So when did you become such a poet?”

“A talent I picked up along my travels.  It goes a long way to charming any eligible partners that attract my interest,” he eyed me speculatively.  Zevran has been an incorrigible flirt since I met him, vying with Alistair for my affections, albeit Zevran’s approach was more open and direct.  Words and charm against looks and constantly following me.  But as I did not have the time or luxury to seriously contemplate such things so I chose to ignore them both.  Perhaps one day things would change.  But not here, and not now.

“Why did you destroy the anvil?” Zevran asked suddenly.  “It seems rather odd.  You could have kept it intact and used it to sweep the Darkspawn and the Archdemon away.  And yet you listened to Caradin and destroyed the one thing that could guarantee us victory.  Do not misunderstand,” he said quickly, holding up his hands in defense when he saw me looking at him.  “I know I owe my life to you and have little grounds to question your decision.  I am merely trying to understand.  You do not last long in my profession without learning how to read and understand people, and you are infuriatingly hard to read”

“Is that what you would have done Zevran?” I asked.  “Kept the anvil and used it?”

“Even you must admit it would have been a valuable tool.”

I shook my head at him.  “I don’t deny that it was valuable, and powerful.  But if you had to make the choice to use the anvil, would you have been the first volunteer for it?”

Zevran blinked in surprise at my question and chuckled nervously.  “I would not make a very effective assassin if I were a golem which is something I take great pride in.  So no, I have to say I would not have been the first to volunteer.”

“Then why keep it?” I asked with a shrug.  I leaned my head back against the railing, the cool dampness of the stone and the air around us seeping into me.  “My father always told me that if you won’t be the first one willing to sacrifice for something you want then maybe you don’t need it.” I said to the ceiling far above us.  “I wasn’t willing to put myself on the anvil.  The thought of sealing my soul away for eternity in a false body of magic and stone?” I shuddered.  “I’m surprised it hasn’t driven Shale mad by now.”

“Caradin believed in his work, and so did others.  Enough so that they were willing to sacrifice innocents to it,” I reminded Zevran in a grim voice.  “Say I did use the anvil and we won the war with it.  What then?  What do I do with the anvil?  Leave it, seal it away like Caradin did, guard it every second of the rest of my life like Caradin, and pray to the Maker that no one ever throughout eternity uses it without good and honorable intentions?” I snorted in disbelief.  “You know as well as I do that would never happen.  We bring the anvil back, and history will only repeat itself.  I couldn’t live with that.”

“We could have destroyed the anvil once we were done with it,” Zevran offered as he began to clean his nails with a small dagger.  He was trying to be nonchalant, but I knew he was starting to see my reasoning.

“Ah yes.  Bring something out of dwarven myth and make it a reality, show them a solid link to their lost and forgotten past, and then they would simply let us destroy it we were done with it.”  Sarcasm dripped from my voice with every word.  “You know as well as I that they would never have let us do that.  And even if we did destroy it, with or without their consent, do you think it would end there?  No, it wouldn’t,” I answered for him as he opened his mouth to speak.  “They would try to recreate Caradin’s work with good intentions.  Reclaim their past, restore their glory, so on and so forth.  But then, as the years and generations passed, those intentions would change.  And then everything would be back to square one with more innocents being sacrificed in the name of security, research, and the advancement of civilization.”

I sighed and stared out into the darkness of the Deep Roads.  “No Zevran, the Anvil of the Void was too dangerous to keep, the outcomes of its use too unpredictable.  Caradin created the anvil out of pride and arrogance.  His people sacrificed a river of blood to it.  He was right to ask me to destroy it.”

We sat in tense silence together for a few moments, listening to the echoes of Oghren and Alistair talking quietly at camp further along the bridge.

“A shame, it would have been a glorious sight.  Ah well,” he sighed.  “Can I at least inquire as to where our fearless and selfless leader is taking us next?”

“We’ll go back through the tunnels to Orzammar and then to use that damnable crown to elect a new king.  I only wish Caradin would have spoken to me about this and that he could have told me who had the right to wear it. The fate of an entire race rests on my shoulders now,” I sighed.  “One more boulder to add to my burdens.”

“A race, a world, what is the difference?” Zevran asked merrily as he briskly stood up and offered me his hand.  “I know that you will do what it best –hopefully what is profitable as well– and in the end so long as we all live to tell are tales, then what more could I ask for than a full stomach, a mug of good ale, and a beautiful woman in my bed?” Zevran cocked his eyebrow suggestively at me as he helped me to my feet and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Tempting my friend,” I said with a wink.  “But first let’s get back to the surface and get you a bath.”  My nose wrinkled in mock disgust.  “Weeks underground in stale air, fighting Darkspawn and crazed dwarves aren’t doing you any favors in the romance department.”

Zevran chuckled as he clapped me on the shoulder and we turned to the warm, inviting glow of camp, and the companions who waited for us.


	2. The Warden and the Templar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair confronts the Warden on her choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all my play throughs of the game, I always leave Denerrim for last and I was kinda curious how Alistair would handle that considering is bond with Arl Eamon...

“Glorious,” I groaned aloud.  I stretched languidly and closed my eyes, luxuriating in the feel of the thick, soft grass all around me.

This was my favorite place in all the camp, although technically it wasn’t a part of the camp as I was currently outside the perimeter of our home away from home.

I was exploring beyond the boundaries one day, looking for herbs for Morrigan, when I stumbled across a small clearing almost hidden by a stand of trees.  The grass was lush and thick, fed by the same stream that watered our camp, and sheltered from the sun by the overhanging branches of the trees.

It practically begged you to strip naked and lie down, inviting you to close your eyes and forget your troubles, promising many hours of sweet, quiet solitude.  It was perfect.  Close enough to the camp that I would hear the screams if there was trouble, but far enough away that the general din of life was a faded memory.

I often came here when I need time and quiet away from everyone to process things or plan our next course of action.  The others were good to varying degrees on letting me be unless they had something urgent to discuss.  Like now.

“Lurianna?” I heard his voice before his footfalls.  I had left Kiché at the camp this time, so I had no advance warning on anyone coming up on me, but I knew I was in no danger from this one.  I sighed.

Alistair was one who used any excuse he could to speak with me alone.  I knew why he did it, kind of hard to miss some of the looks he gave me and the fact that he put himself between me and danger whenever he could.  I think a lot of it had to do with his chivalrous nature-protect the women and all that- but you would have to be truly blind to miss the fact that the boy was infatuated with me.

And if I were to be honest with myself, he was winning me over.  At first I found it cute and amusing, him wanting to be around me, following me like a little lost puppy.  But now I often looked forward to being alone with him and talking with him.  He was fun to have around, always laughing and joking with everyone and smiling as often as he could and he lifted my spirits when we were on the road together.

“Here,” I called out but remained where I was, lying in the soft grass, and put my hands behind my head.  I stared up at the sky as if I would find the answers to all my troubles encoded in the stars.

I was wearing a simple tunic and leggings that I thankfully had the foresight to keep here, wrapped in waterproof oil cloth and wedged into a high branch of a tree.  My armor that I had stripped off was laid out neatly at the base of the same tree I kept my change of clothes in, along with my swords.  This was a place for me to relax, and I could not do that wearing several very heavy pounds of steel and leather, staring through a visor.  My only concession to battle was Kiché when I brought him, and a small enchanted dagger I had found in an abandoned Dwarven thaig in the Deeproads several weeks ago.

“Lurianna!” Alistair called out again, closer and sounding exasperated.  The grass had grown up enough these last few weeks to completely hide someone from sight when they were lying down like I was.  I raised my hand and listened to the thud of his footsteps as he came closer until I was looking up into his face.

Oh, he was in a fine mood tonight.  Alistair was never one for subtlety, although he did try.  And while he wasn’t frowning outright or yelling at me, I could tell by the set of his mouth and the stubborn look in his eyes that he was upset about something.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked me, his voice hard.  I put my hand back behind my head, shrugged, and looked at him.  “You came all the way out here to find me Alistair, wouldn’t be right for me to turn you away now.”

Alistair nodded to himself and straightened, staring down at me from above as he waited for me to rise up.  I sighed and got to my feet as Alistair turned and headed towards the riverbank.  Further downstream from the camp, I had discovered two good sized rocks and, with Sten and Shale’s assistance, had them brought up here so I had something to sit on whenever one of my companions sought me out.

Sitting next to him there in the clearing, I studied his profile as I waited for him to speak.  Alistair was looking up at the sky much the same way I was not so long ago.  I assumed he was gathering his thoughts, wanting to present himself in the best way.

I kept thinking of him as a boy because that’s how you would describe much about him.  Boyish good looks, boyish charm, he acted like he was so much younger than me, despite the fact that we had both seen just over twenty winters.  He was cute enough with his short cropped dirty blonde hair, a clowlick that caused it to stand up at his forehead, and eyes that were normally a light sky blue, but now were darkened by whatever bothered him.

Alistair sighed, bringing me back to myself.  “Can I ask you a question?”  I smirked.  “You just did,” I pointed out.  He looked at me, surprised, and grinned sheepishly.  “Well, I’d like to ask you another one.”  I nodded for him to continue.

“Where are we going next?”

I blinked at him, surprised.  I wasn’t used to Alistair asking me questions like that.  He was more inclined to follow first and ask along the way, so long as wherever I lead us ended with Loghain and the Archdemon dead.

“I was planning on going to the Brecelian forest and seek out the Dalish, talk to them about our treaty,” I watched him closely as I laid out our next course of action.  Alistair turned away from me at that.

“We’re not going to Dennerim?  Brother Giovanni is supposed to be there, with the research for the location of Andraste’s Ashes,” he said as nonchalantly as he could.  It didn’t work out very well.  I shook my head.

I knew why he wanted to go to Denerrim so badly.  Alistair and I had known each other for some time now, and while familiarity breeds contempt, it also makes one easier to read.  I met Alistair shortly after my family was slaughtered and I was drafted into the Grey Wardens.  He was already a Warden, albeit a junior one and I met him at Ostagar where I was to take my vows with two others who had been drafted: a thief and a knight.

Before that fateful battle that slaughtered our brethren and marked us wrongly as traitors, Duncan –our most senior Grey Warden, my savior from the slaughterhouse my family home had become, and Alistair’s mentor –tasked us with traveling out into the nearby Kokari wilds and finding an ancient Grey Warden tower, inside which we would find treaties that gave the Grey Wardens the power to call upon mages, dwarves, and elves in times of a Blight.  Duncan intended to put those treaties to good use, but was cut down in the battle shortly after we returned.

Alistair and I survived the slaughter at Ostagar only because we had the blind luck of being tasked with beacon duty.  We were to light a beacon and call reinforcements if needed.  They were, and we did, but the reinforcements never came.  Loghain, father in law to King Cailen and a general of Fereldan, took his forces from the field once we lit the beacon.  Surrounded, wounded from a blast of Darkspawn magic, Alistair and I were saved from death by the apostate mage Morrigan and her mother Flemeth.  I awoke a few days after the battle in Flemeth’s hut to learn that the army at Ostagar was wiped out, and Loghain had returned to the capital city of Denerrim and branded the Grey Wardens traitors.

Lost, directionless, alone, Alistair and I decided to take up where Duncan had left off and enact the treaties.  Flemeth sent Morrigan along with us, the first of what promised to be many companions.  The three of us made our way to Lothering, where we met two more companions: the Orleasian bard Leliana and the Qunari warrior Sten.  Leliana we ran across in the local tavern.  A sister of the Chantry, Leliana said the Maker had granted her visions that led her to my side.  Sten was imprisoned for killing a farming family in a fit of fear and confusion, and was going to be left to the Darkspawn once the inhabitants of Lothering had fled.  Not one to turn down aid where I could find it, I welcomed Lurianna gladly, and convinced the Revered Mother of the local Chantry to release Sten into my custody and he joined our quickly growing band.  After some discussion we decided to head first to Redcliffe and enlist the aid of Arl Eamon, the man who raised Alistair like a son.

On our way to the arl, we were besieged by assassins, hired by Loghain and led by an elf named Zevran.  It was a hard battle, but we were able to kill all of them except Zevran.  I had dealt him only a glancing blow so he lived and I gave him a chance to redeem himself by joining with me and aiding me in my battles.  Alistair was not too happy with an assassin joining us, but I knew we would need everyone before this was all over.

When we arrived at Redcliffe, the town was almost destroyed.  Undead came forth from the castle every night and attacked the villagers.  We were able to help repel them, and fought our way to the castle where we discovered the arl poisoned by a blood mage named Jowan whom we found imprisoned in the castle dungeon, a mage that the arl’s wife Isolde had brought in secretly to train their son Connor in the way of magic.

But the training hadn’t gone far enough.  Connor had entered the Fade to try and save his father, but instead was possessed by a demon who was the cause of the undead attacks.  After freeing Jowan, he told us there was a way to free Connor, a spell that needed either a blood sacrifice or a group of mages working together to send one into the Fade and confront the demon that possessed Connor.  Isolde was quick to offer her life for the sacrifice, but no one else wanted that.

My decision was an easy one.  Leave, seek the aid of the mages of the Circle of Fereldan, invoke the treaty of the Grey Wardens, and return to save Connor.  And it was a good thing we did, because when we arrived at the Circle tower, we found it besieged from the inside by demons and abominations.  We fought our way up to the top of the tower, clearing out the demons and abominations, and saved those mages who had survived until we got there.  We left with a promise of aid for the Blight, saving the boy Connor, and a new companion in a senior enchanter named Wynne.

We returned to Redcliffe castle, and with the aid of Jowan and the other mages, we were able to free Connor from the demon, although the arl was still stricken.  We learned of some Redcliffe knights who had been sent out to seek what was rumored to be the only cure:  Andraste’s Ashes.  The mortal remains of the Maker’s prophet here in Thedas.  But the knights had all failed, both in finding the urn, and in returning to Redcliffe.  Arl Eamon’s brother Teagan directed us to Denerrim and Brother Giovanni, whose research was rumored to have found the resting place of the urn.

I knew when Alistair heard of this lead he wanted to race right away to Denerrim, and understandably so.  The arl was the only family Alistair knew after his mother, a servant at the castle, died in childbirth and his birth father King Maric chose not to claim him.  Maric already had one legitimate son, Cailen.  Two would have torn the kingdom apart.  But now that Cailen was dead at Ostagar, Alistair was the only one of Maric’s bloodline left.

But despite his eagerness to save the arl, I took us north to Orzammar, to seek the aid of the dwarves.  And after healing a political schism in the stone city, we left with their promise to honor the treaty, and yet another new companion, a dwarven berserker named Oghren.  We had just returned from Orzammar a few weeks ago, and now instead of going to Denerrim, I wanted to take us east to the Brecilian forest and seek out the elves.

I had my reasons for not wanted to go to the capital yet, and I would not be swayed from them.   “We’re not going to Denerrim yet Alistair,” I explained softly, my voice firm.

Alistair exploded into motion at that, leaping to his feet and pacing around the clearing.  “Why not?  We go to Denerrim, speak to this Brother Giovanni, find the ashes, and save the arl!” Alistair was all but shouting to me as he pounded his fist into his palm with each point he made.  “Why are we waiting on this?  The arl could die!” He finally stopped moving long enough to glare at me.  I remained seated on the stone, waiting him out.

“I understood going to the mages,” he said, taking a deep breath and visibly trying to calm himself.  “That was a good call.  We were able to save Connor and Isolde.  I wasn’t too sure about going to the dwarves next, but I followed because I trusted you.  And now…” Alistair’s voice trailed off as he shook his head.  “Now there is no reason not to go to Denerrim.”

The clearing was still and silent as his words faded into the night.  I watched Alistair to see if he was finished.  Alistair met my gaze unflinchingly, waiting me out.  I nodded to myself and finally stood to face him.

“You trust me.” I stated simply.  Alistair blinked at me and frowned, looking puzzled.  “Of course I do.”

“Then believe me when I say we can’t go to Denerrim, that I _won’t_ go until we meet with the elves.” I stepped forward, holding out my hands imploringly.  “Loghain is in Denerrim Alistair.  Denerrim is his.  He has the power there.  And he branded us as traitors or did you forget that part?” I arched my brow at him.

“I didn’t forget,” he grumbled petulantly.

“Then what do you think would happen if we walked into the capitol now, today, without as much support as we could muster?”

“It’s not like we’d walk up to the castle and say ‘hey, we’re the Grey Wardens Loghain’s been looking for’!” Alistair objected.  I rolled my eyes at him.

“Of course we wouldn’t announce our arrival, but do you really think Loghain wouldn’t have given our description to every man, woman and child who can hold a blade?  Blessed Andraste, he’s sent assassins after us once already!” I motioned back towards the camp where I assumed Zevran was biding his time with the others.  ‘What do you think he’ll do when he discovers that we’re so close to home?”

I sighed and shook my head.  “No.  I won’t go to Denerrim.  Not now.  Not until we see these treaties through.  Yes, there is a chance that we may be too late to save the arl, but he has survived this long before we came and I doubt he’ll fail when we’re so close.  I will not walk into the lion’s den unprotected, and I will not put you or anyone else here with me now at risk.” I looked at Alistair.  “I know you don’t like it, but if you become king, you’ll understand that these choices must be made sometimes.”

“By the Maker, you’re just like the rest of them, aren’t you?” Alistair huffed in disgust.  “Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want to be king?  That I never asked to be the bastard son of a now-dead hero?  I don’t want any of this!”  He whirled on his heel and began stomping away from me.

Alistair was never open to the royal blood that flowed through him, and kept it hidden as much as he could so people would accept him on his own merits, rather than the merits of someone he had never truly met.  I only found out about his royal bastard background as we entered Redcliffe for the first time.  Alistair rightly assumed that there would be little to no chance to continue to keep his secret if we were to be meeting with one of the few men who knew it, and so he told me about it before we went any further.

I wasn’t upset by his reluctance to admit such a thing, and I understood the reason behind it.  But this was not the first time since revealing it to me that Alistair had thrown his bloodline to the wind, whining about how he didn’t want or ask for it.  Normally, I would have let it go.  But my days on the road were beginning to wear on me.  I came here for peace and quiet, not to get into a fight about my decisions or listen once again to this same old song.  I felt something inside me snap.  Alistair was not about to get away with this.  Not tonight.

“You didn’t ask for this.  You didn’t ask for the life you have been given,”  ” I said softly, my voice as cold as ice.  Alistair stopped dead in his tracks, but didn’t face me.  Instead I started slowly towards him, my voice still soft.  “Did you ever stop to think Alistair, that none of us ‘asked for this’?”  That got his attention.  Alistair finally turned back towards me, face petulant as I began ticking off one by one on my fingers the lives of our companions.

“Did Morrigan ask to be raised as Flemeth’s future meat puppet?  Did Sten ask to lose his sword and kill those farmers in a fit of fear?  Did Leliana ask to be framed for treason and flee for her life to the Chantry here in Fereldan?  Did Wynne ask to be ripped from her family as a child and thrown into a tower for the rest of her life?  Did Oghren ask for his wife to go bat shit crazy in the Deeproads and have her feed her household to the Darkspawn down there?  Did I ask for my family to be slaughtered in their beds in the middle of the night and be drafted into the Grey Wardens?  Did any of us ask to be born and fight in a gods-be-damned Blight!”  I was shouting at the end and caught myself.  Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and forced myself to be still.

After a few moments I opened them again and saw Alistair watching me, a mix of fear and sorrow on his face.  I had never lost my temper like that before, never yelled at anyone within my camp.  He knew my outburst was his fault and after laying out the lives of our comrades plainly before him, it seemed as if he was suitably contrite over his earlier lamentations.

Following a sudden impulse I cared not to question, I reached up and gently laid my fingertips on his cheek.  His eyes widened at the contact and I felt his cheek warm as he blushed, but he didn’t move.

“None of us ask for the life we are given Alistair,” I continued in the same soft voice.  But now it was heavy with fatigue and sorrow that even I could hear.  “All we can do is make the best of what we have, do what we feel is right, and the Maker willing leave this world a little bit better than what it was when we entered it.”  I dropped my hand to my side and smiled gently at him.  “No one is saying you have to be king.  But you need to at least accept the fact that it could happen.”

Alistair looked down at his feet, his blush deepening before looking back up at me.  “What if I make a terrible king?” he whispered.  I grinned.

“My father always said that’s the first step of being a good leader, putting the needs of others above your own.”  I looked off into the distance, remembering my father strong, smiling and laughing.  Rather than the beaten, bloody creature I had left behind in the cellar of my home that night.

“I forget sometimes where you come from,” Alistair murmured.  “Your father sounds like a great man.  I wish I could have met him.”

I looked back at Alistair and cocked my head as I studied him.  “I wish so too. I think he would have liked you,” I mused.  Alistair blushed a deeper shade of pink at that and I laughed.

“Come on then,” I clapped him on the shoulder and made my way to the pile of armor at the tree.  “I think we best be getting back to the others before too many rumors start flying around.  Oh, and Alistair,” I looked back over my shoulder at him.  He watched me curiously.  “For the record, I think you would make a fine king.”


	3. The Warden and the Apostate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan takes her turn haranguing the Warden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always left Morrigan behind and I doubt she was very pleased about it, figured she would confront the Warden about it at least once...

“Oh blessed Andraste,” I breathed a sigh of relief as the wooden barricade of our camp drew closer.

“Home sweet home eh?” Alistair clapped me on the shoulder as he drew up beside me.  “You know, you’d think one would get bored of sleeping on the cold ground, eating charred beef and getting too close and personal with near complete strangers, but it kind of grows on you after a while.”

I laughed as Alistair flashed me a grin before looking quickly away, blushing.  My eyes lingered on his strong profile before I turned to look behind me and saw Wynne and Zevran a few paces behind, the elven assassin smirking, and the mage wearing a look of long suffering patience.

“Come on you two!” I called and stopped to wait for them.  “I don’t know about any of you, but I wouldn’t mind sleeping until the Blight is over.”

It was almost midday and the four of us were returning to camp after our first semi-successful foray into the Brecilian forest and our meeting with the Dalish who dwelled within its leafy confines.  We had been away from the camp for the better part of a week, walking, talking, laughing and bickering the whole way.  And while no one would say it, I saw the lines of weariness in all our faces and knew that this would be a much welcome night of rest.

As we drew closer to the wooden palisades, Zevran lifted his slender nose and sniffed the wind.  “Mmmm, what is that heavenly aroma?”  It was true, something delicious was cooking within the camp, the smell making my mouth water.  Our step picked up after that, anxious and eager to get to the source of that smell.

Passing into the centre of the camp we made a beeline to the campfire from which that wondrous smell was emanating from, with the reminder of our companions gathered around it.  Leliana was ladling out what looked to be a thick stew into bowls and passing them around to everyone and was the first to notice our return, smiling broadly and waving us over.  Everyone turned to glance over their shoulder at us before turning back to their meal.  I couldn’t blame them.  We had been subsiding largely on dried meat and whatever fruits and nuts we could scavenge.  Wild game was becoming more and more scarce these days, but it seemed as if someone was able to catch something fresh, with enough meat on it to make a meal large enough to feed everyone.

“That smells delicious my dear,” Wynne complimented Leliana.  “What is it?”

“Morrigan was able to catch a few rabbits and was kind enough to give us some of her herbs,” Leliana replied sweetly as she passed a steaming bowl to Oghren on her left.

“Morrigan my dear,” purred Zevran as he sniffed appreciatively towards the pot.  “You are as talented as you are beautiful.”  Morrigan snorted in derision as she ate her stew quietly.

“How did it go with the elves?” Leliana asked as she dipped a ladle into the boiling pot and scooped the stew into more bowls.  “Will they honor the treaty?”

“Oh smashing!  All we need to do is track down and kill some sort of spirit wolf and they’ll be more than happy to help us,” Alistair drawled sarcastically as I gratefully accepted a bowl from Leliana.

Leliana’s eyes widened like the saucers we had back home.  “Really?” she breathed excitedly.  “What happened?”

Taking turns the four of us told the tale of tracking the elves and our meeting with their leader Zacknafaen and their tale of woe, of being stalked and attacked by werewolves most every night and of lycanthropy decimating their ranks of hunters.  Zacknafaen knew of the ancient Grey Warden treaties that his people had signed long ago, and while he wanted to help us he needed to look after his people first and so asked us to aid him in turn.  We were to find a white wolf in the heart of the Brecilian forest, a spirit wolf named Winterfang who was leading the werewolves and directing them on the attacks.  We needed the Dalish to fight with us in the Blight, so I agreed to help them in return for their aid.

After catching everyone up on what had transpired, we whiled away a few blissful hours laughing and joking amongst ourselves until the moon hung high in the sky.  But finally I acknowledged the passing of the night and called an end to our festivities.

“Alright everyone, time for us to turn in.  Alistair, Zevran, Wynne,” I addressed each companion in turn.  “You know a bit of the land already, so be ready to head out again at dawn and we’ll start tracking down this wolf.  The rest of you, business as usual.  Keep your eyes open and your ears to the ground.  Anything happens, send Kiché after us and he’ll find me.”  Kiché yipped in agreement and wagged his tale enthusiastically.  I looked around at my assembled companions and saw various degrees of acknowledgement.

Oghren was too busy drinking from his latest mead skin to do much more than grunt and refill his bowl, Leliana was her usual trusting self as she smiled and nodded, Morrigan was scowling with more ferocity than usual, Kiché was panting happily in the dirt at my feet, and I think Sten agreed with me but since his face showed little more emotion than Shale who was made out of rock and standing right next to him, it was rather hard to say.  Alistair had returned to his meal, trying to watch me from the corner of his eye without making it seem overly obvious, Zevran was busy sharpening one of his daggers, and Wynne had excused herself as soon as she heard we were leaving at first light, citing aging bones and a greater need for sleep than us ‘young ones’.

I nodded to each of them and turned towards the dim, welcoming confines of my own tent at the edge of the camp.  Kiché quickly rose to follow me in, but I turned him away.

“Not tonight boy,” I whispered as I took a moment to kneel and scratch him behind the ears.  “I can’t have you keeping me up all night as you chase rabbits in your sleep.”  Kiché whined but obligingly laid down just outside my tent as I entered it and collapsed into my bedroll, grateful that the day was finally over.

Or so I thought at least.  It wasn’t long before I heard soft footfalls approaching and stopping a few yards away.

“Lurianna?” I heard a voice call from beyond the fabric of my tent.  “I would like a word with you.”

I rolled over with a groan and rubbed at my tired eyes.  “Anytime Morrigan,” I drawled sarcastically.  “What’s on your mind?”

A pale, slim hand slid into my tent and pushed the covering aside revealing Morrigan’s pretty, angular face with short, black hair and full red lips.  Those lips were currently twisted into her usual scowl as she stepped inside and sat down next to me.

“Don’t patronize me,” she said crisply as I sat up and braced myself on my elbows.  “You know perfectly well why I’m here.”  Morrigan’s voice always amazed me.  For someone who had grown up in the wilds away from people and civilization, her words were surprisingly precise, making her sound more like a well bred noblewoman than an apostate mage.

Morrigan was the first companion I had gathered in my travels, if you didn’t count Alistair.  After the battle at Ostagar, she and her mother Flemeth rescued us from the battlefield that had slain so many of our friends and comrades.  At first, we were to go on our merry way once we had recovered enough after a few days of rest, but Flemeth surprised us all by sending Morrigan with us, a surprise that was not well received by either Morrigan or Alistair.

It took some convincing on my part, but Morrigan eventually came with us.  She was a well trained mage and I had yet to find another whose knowledge of herb lore surpassed her own.  She was the primary crafter of any potions our group needed, and more than once her health poultices had saved one or another of us from death.

The journey was not easy for not only did Morrigan and Alistair seemed to live to harass each other, but Morrigan herself was an extremely practical and often harsh person and did not often approve of the softer methods I took to get what I wanted or needed from people.  As a result she did not play well with me or the rest of my companions at first but somehow she and I came to an understanding, and even came to trust each other, enough so that she asked me to save her.

On our journeys, I had stumbled across a black grimoire that I had given to Morrigan to study, and it turned out that it belonged to Flemeth, albeit it was one of the fake ones that she had scattered across Thedas.  After some study it was discovered that Flemeth was old.  Very, very old.  She had developed a system with which to cheat death for eternity.  Find a young girl, raise her, and when Flemeth’s body grew too old and weak, she would take over the body of her ‘daughter’, and the cycle would start again.

Needless to say, that thought did not sit well with either Morrigan or myself, and at her request I went to deal with Flemeth and retrieve her true grimoire.  Flemeth also turned out to be a shape shifter and decided to fight me for her life and her grimoire in the form of a dragon.

To this day I’m not sure exactly how we survived that battle, but we did and I retrieved the spell book and handed it over to Morrigan, who then asked for peace and quiet in which to study it.

That was almost two months ago, and judging by the look on Morrigan’s face, that time was fast coming to a close.

“You announced that you will be leaving in the morning,” Morrigan interrupted my train of thought, “With Alistair, Zevran and Wynne on yet another excursion after bandits, brigands and what not, all towards ending the Blight, and once again I am being left behind.”  Morrigan’s dark eyes snapped fire at me.

“Why did I join with you and the dim witted Alistair if not to aid you in your battle?” she demanded.  “Why am I here at all?  To stand around and look pretty?  If the looks you have been giving Alistair are any indication your inclinations do not lean towards the fairer sex.  Am I a curiosity then?  An apostate mage, malificar, rumored daughter of the infamous Flemeth?  Please, pray tell me my _friend_ , what purpose exactly do I serve sitting here at camp?”

I remained silent in the face of her onslaught, having learned long ago it was not a wise idea to interrupt Morrigan when she was in a fury, else risk her pushing someone to blows.  Morrigan sat before me, her slightly flaring nostrils the only indication of her agitation.  The skirt of her robes that left little to the imagination flared on the ground around her, and I noticed her fingers picking ever so gently at the pleats.  This must have been bothering her more than I thought, Morrigan was not often one to show weakness of any form.

“May I remind you Morrigan, that your esteemed mother forced you upon us, and neither you nor Alistair were exactly happy about it,” I pointed out.  “I was the one who…encouraged Alistair to accept you on our quest, and accepted Flemeth’s offer of your aid.” Morrigan opened her mouth to reply but I held up my hand to forestall her.

“And while I do not want you to leave,” I continued hastily, “you are also under no obligation to stay.  I would not ask or demand that of any of you.  Your aid has proven invaluable to us, your spells and herb lore both, and despite rumors to the contrary, I do consider you a friend.  But I admit have been leaving you behind for a purpose.”

That got her attention and seemed to mollify her somewhat.  I saw some of the tension leave her shoulders as she sat up a little bit straighter and nodded for me to continue.

“You asked me, as a friend, to fetch Flemeth’s grimoire for you, and I did.  You asked for time to read it, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.  I haven’t brought you along on anything because you asked for that time, and I want you to have as much as you need.” I shrugged my shoulders at her.  “I always assumed that you would approach me when you were done and ready to join us again.”

I held out my hand to her and gently rested my fingertips on her leather clad knee.  Morrigan eyed me warily as I continued.  “I need you strong Morrigan.  We’re going up against an Archdemon and his hellish minions, not a few of which have the capability of tossing a few spells around themselves.  I want you to read that book from cover to cover and back again.  I want you to be able to toss those spells in your sleep with no more effort than it takes you to breathe.”

“I want you to study, I want you to learn, and then I want you to fight.” I shook my head and drew back my hand.  “I’m sorry if I offended you with this, but I also assumed you would prefer your studies to ‘saving every kitten caught up a tree’,” I said, parroting her own words from so long ago back at her.  Morrigan looked thoughtful for a moment before she nodded.

“Very well then, I understand your reasoning,” Morrigan inclined her head to me.  “And I will abide by it until such a time as I am ready to join you once more.  But I don’t think it would be a very good idea if I could cast spells in my sleep,” Morrigan smirked at me, the closest she would ever really come to a smile.

“Hmm.  You’re right.  I like my men…you know, men,” I chuckled.

“So you and Alistair then?  Really?” Morrigan asked incredulously.

“Yes, I think so.  Things certainly seem to be moving in that direction,” I eyed Morrigan with a grin.  “Zevran’s still available if you’re interested.”

“I’d rather gouge out my eyes,” Morrigan snorted.

“That might be a turn on for him,” I mused.  Morrigan shook her head at me and without another word or a backwards glance left the tent, and me to my slumber.


	4. The Warden and the Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wynne and the Warden discuss her moral ambiguity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always helped the mage's collective only to betray them at the end. Wynne probably wasn't too happy about it and I imagined this is how the confrontation went down.

The cool, clean water of the river caressed my bare legs as I waded to the center of the current and slipped my hands under the surface.  Bent over, my fingers danced across the stones along the bottom, picking up and discarding each as I came to them.  A whimper from the riverbank caught my attention and I turned to see my Mabari war hound Kiché looking at me curiously, his head cocked.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I said as I turned my attention back to the task at hand.  “You know as well as I do that Shale has a thing for interesting stones.  We’ve been leaving her behind at camp a lot so I thought I might try and find something for her.  You know, as a gift.”

I heard an answering chuff of air from my right and the rustle of the grass as Kiché settled down waiting for me.  I shrugged my shoulders at him as I continued searching, picking up stones, examining stones and putting them back.

“I know, Shale’s line of thinking doesn’t exactly parallel our own when it comes to tokens of appreciation or gratitude, but I’m not going to treat her any different than anyone else in my camp just because she’s made entirely of stone.”

I glanced over at my hound in time to see him yawn and lick his chops at me, managing somehow to look both bored and amused by my antics.  I could only imagine what he saw: here I was, in the middle of a river, my leggings rolled up to my knees, my arms submerged up to the elbow as I searched in the dark for rocks for my golem friend.  I chuckled and shook my head at him, letting the soft sounds of the night wash over me as I searched through the riverbed in the moonlight.

It had been weeks now since we had found the sacred Urn of Ashes and healed Arl Eamon from the poison he had been afflicted with.  With the arl’s backing, we had returned to Denerrim where Eamon called a Landsmeet to challenge Loghain’s right to rule Fereldan.  The Landsmeet would gather all the peers of the realm and we would be allowed to present our case against Loghain, then they would choose their sides and ultimately their fate.

And it was when we returned to Denerrim that Alistair had finally faced the fact that in order to heal our broken homeland, he would have to become king.  He wasn’t very happy about it by any means, but he seemed to accept it.  I think it helped that he knew I backed his claim.

There were those who were calling for Alistair to unite the kingdom by marrying his brother Cailen’s widow, Anora, daughter of Loghain.  Needless to say neither Alistair nor I were happy with the idea.  He felt it was rather awkward to marry his dead brother’s widow and that it would have been betraying me.  And while I would be the first to admit that there was no small amount of jealousy at the thought of the man I loved marrying another woman for duty, the fact that I trusted Anora no more than her father went much further.

I had met Anora, even saved her from imprisonment at the hands of Arl Howe, the bastard that butchered my family.  And I saw in her the same cold, calculating ambition I saw in her father.  I trusted neither of them with the throne or the country, and I was determined to keep it out of their hands at any cost.

As a result we had been travelling the length and breadth of Fereldan once more, gathering support from any corner we could and I had been spending less and less time at the camp with my companions and more at my clearing with Kiché.  Things were moving swiftly now, and soon it would all be over.  I found myself questioning my decisions more and more the closer were got to the end of things.  Was there anything else I could have done?  People I could have helped?  Lives I could have saved?  Did I miss anything that would help us win?  I knew now what people meant when they said that they had the weight of the world on their shoulders.  It certainly felt like it was on mine.

Motion from the riverbank caught my attention and I glanced over to see Kiché looking behind him in the direction of our camp.  Someone was coming, but since he hadn’t leapt to his feet growling like a demon, I knew it was a friend.  Soon enough I saw Wynne emerge from the tree line and head towards us, the moonlight glinting off her white hair, turning it silver.  She wore her blue mage robes and had brought her enchanter’s staff with her, a concession to the war we found ourselves in and the battles we had fought.

“Lurianna,” Wynne called, the soft swish of her footsteps through the thick grass coming closer.  “Could I have a word with you my dear?”  She smiled gently at me.

“Of course Wynne,” I nodded to the stone next to me.  “Pull up a rock.”

“I wished to speak to you about some of the decisions that you have made recently,” Wynne explained matter of factly as she settled herself on the cold granite, setting her staff on the ground beside her.  “They seem…inconsistent with the woman I have thought you to be.”  Wynne was the most diplomatic of my companions, but she also had the capability to be quite direct when she felt the situation required it.

“And what kind of a woman do you think I am?” I asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.  All joking aside, I was genuinely curious as to what she thought of me.  Wynne had seen many more years than me, I valued her advice and opinions in everything and she had taken to filling in my mother’s shoes a bit since I lost her months ago.  Was it any wonder that I was eager to know that she thought well of me?

Wynne was the first of my companions to join me on my crusade if you didn’t count Alistair or Morrigan.  She was the first mage I met when entering the Circle Tower at Lake Calenhad, searching for a way to save Arl Eamon’s son from the demon that possessed him.  But instead of finding a cabal of mages deep in thought and study, we found a tower in disarray and the Templars, whose jobs it was to watch and police the mages, waiting for the order to come down from the Chantry to wipe them all out because one of them had delusions of grandeur and released demons upon the tower.

I couldn’t let that happen.  Never mind the fact that I need the mages alive to save Connor and fight in the Blight, I was not about to let a wholesale slaughter occur because of the fallibility of one mage.  Wynne had gathered the children who were living at the tower by the entrance and sealed off the one entryway to the rest of the tower to keep them safe.  I was impressed at the strength that it took for her to keep the barrier up.  Wynne was a self-proclaimed old woman, but was strong despite her apparent frailty.  Her achievement was even more impressive when I learned later that her health was fast fading due to a Fade spirit that had attached itself to her life force when she was a child.  The spirit meant well at the time, but unfortunately whenever it need to use its gifts to help Wynne, it used a little bit of her un-replenishable said life force to do so.  In the end, the very spirit who sought to aid her was, in fact, slowly killing her.

Wynne chuckled.  “You are a young woman, still learning but certain of your place in the world.  I admit when we first met I was concerned about how one as young and sheltered as you would cope with the sudden responsibility that was thrust upon you.  You lost your family, were drafted into the Grey Wardens and thrown into the middle of a Blight, all within such a short time.  I wondered if you would rise to the occasion and do as your duty commanded, or if you would simply go through the motions, doing only so much as you needed to benefit yourself.”

I kept silent, not rising from my search.  I had a feeling I knew what this was about, and what prompted it.

“Until we approached Denerrim,” she continued, “my concerns were unfounded.  Your actions had proven you to be a kind, honest woman, helping those less fortunate than yourself and steadfast in your beliefs.  But then we entered the city and you seem to be more ambiguous in your morality.  I must admit my dear, I am becoming concerned.”

I nodded in understanding.  “You watch me go from saving kittens stuck up trees to taking contracts and doing favors for crime lords, assassins, and smugglers.”  I eyed Wynne shrewdly.  “You see me helping the mages guild with one hand, and betraying them on the other.”

At least Wynne had the grace to look a little abashed at that.  I had long ago become acquainted with the mage’s guild, a group of mages operating outside the influence of the circle and hiring out odd jobs they needed done to any willing adventurer.  Harvest some herbs, deliver some potions, find some magical sites for them to research, that sort of thing.  Normally, I dealt fairly with all my business partners, but my last interaction with the guild left a bad taste in my mouth so to speak, and it was no surprise that Wynne was concerned.  I straightened from the water with a sigh, wiping my hands mostly dry on my tunic as I waded towards my friend and settled myself on the stone beside her.

We sat silently together on the rocks for a moment as I contemplated my answer.  Kiché rose from his place long enough to amble over next to us and lie down beside me.

“Everything I do Wynne, I do for a reason,” I started slowly, carefully choosing my words as I spoke. “Not for a fancy, or a whim, or because of someone else’s wants or needs.  And yes, I will freely admit that these reasons directly benefit me.” I looked at Wynne.  “I help everyone when and where I can, because in the end, everyone can help me.”

Looking back across the river, I let my hand fall to my side and absentmindedly scratched Kiché behind the ears as I continued.  “The dwarves, the elves, the mages, all are mine to call upon when we face the Darkspawn army at last, and all because of the aid I lent them.” I began ticking off on my fingers.  “The Crows will no longer be a threat to any of us because of the contracts I took.  And those crime lords can provide me with invaluable information on the inner workings of the city because of the favors I did for them.”

“And the mages collective?” Wynne interrupted.  “Why do you help them only to betray them?”

I sighed.  “I do not understand the plight of the mages as you do Wynne, for I am not one.  But that does not mean I am not sympathetic or do not emphasize with them.” I shrugged.  “They want me to help innocent mages from being condemned, sure.  Corral some apostates, I’m all for it.  Hunt down malificar, and I’m in.  But even you must agree Wynne, that passing those Lyrium potions to Templars as a bribe…” my voice trailed off as I shook my head.  “Even that was too much.”

“Mages should not be locked away to live out their lives like thieves in a cage, or bugs in a jar.  But until things change, the Templars are just doing their job, and I cannot condone purposely feeding an addiction that will eventually drive them mad and kill them.”

Templars were essentially knights of the church, and were tasked with watching mages throughout the course of their lives to ensure that they did not use their magic for ill or summoned creatures of the fade to corrupt our world and wreak havoc.

Mages consumed Lyrium potions to fuel the spells that they cast, and in order to protect themselves and others from mages, Templars did as well, albeit to a lesser degree than their charges.  In most cases, the consumption of Lyrium gave the Templars the strength they needed to withstand any outside magical attacks, at least long enough to put up a physical defense.  But sometimes Templars formed an addiction to the blue potion, an addiction that affects the mind as well as the body and eventually drives the person mad.

I had received a task to deliver some Lyrium potions to a group of Templars as a bribe to look the other way during some shadier mage dealings.  I took the potions but turned them over to a knight captain, thus ensuring the persecution and imprisonment of all parties involved, mage and Templar.

I couldn’t do it.  I was willing to do a lot of things in order to win this war, but something inside me said that was going too far.

“My father always told me that in order to be a good leader you need to do what is right.  And failing that, what needs to be done,” I said aloud suddenly.

“You father, Bryce Cousalnd,” Wynne mused.  “I never met him, but I heard he was a great man.”

I nodded.  “That’s all I’m trying to do Wynne.  We’ve all been picked up by the scruff of our necks like newborn Mabari and dropped into the middle of this Blight.  We’re all fighting to win here, and you’re all looking to me for guidance.”  I scrubbed my face with my hand, feeling so much older than my years.  What was it about a person’s life that aged them so?

“Everything I’ve done up until now has been because I felt it was the right thing to do,” I continued.  “I sided with Lord Harromont among the dwarves, because my only other choice was a prince who quite possibly committed patricide.  I lifted the curse Zaknafaen laid upon those humans because they had done him no wrong.  I didn’t kill Zaknaefan because of the grief he carried for his murdered children.  I convinced the Templars that there were no abominations hiding among the mages, not only because that’s what I believed or because I needed the mages, but because I could not condemn everyone left alive in that tower because someone _might_ be an abomination.”

I laughed suddenly, a short, harsh bark of humorless sound.  Wynne looked at me, startled.  “In all honestly, I don’t think its right to help everyone I have in Denerrim.  The crime lords, the Crows,” I shook my head.  “I’m not sure what I did was right, but it’s what I felt was needed.”

Finally facing Wynne, I shrugged and smiled sadly.  “I guess in a way you’re right Wynne.  I am morally ambiguous.  I do what I think is best in any given situation.  Damn the consequences and damn what others think.”

Wynne and I sat in contemplative silence for a few moments before she spoke again.

“That is a dangerous path to tread my dear,” she said softly to me.  “You must be careful not to lose yourself to the darkness that we see all around us.  You must keep that sense of right and wrong that your father instilled in you else I fear we will all be lost.”

This time when I laughed, it was real and cleansing.  By her words, Wynne had accepted my reasoning and understood me a little better now, hopefully.  I grinned at my mage friend.

“That’s what I got you for Wynne,” I glanced back towards the camp.  “That’s why I have all of you.  To remind me what we’re fighting for and to bring me back if I walk too far off the ledge.”

Wynne nodded to herself, picked up her staff and rose off the stone she was sitting on.  Dusting off the seat of her robes she smiled at me.   “I’m glad we had this talk my dear,” she said softly as she patted my shoulder.  “My heart feels lighter for it, and I am glad you confided in me.  But now I’ll leave you to your solitude, and meet you back at camp later.”

And with another smile at me Wynne turned and head back the way she had come, leaving me sitting on the cold stone and staring up once more the stars, my hound by my side.


End file.
